30

"Mmm," Cyrus groaned as Greyson ran his long fingers through his hair.

"I'm checking your head for injuries and soft spots. You're supposed to be telling me if something hurts," Greyson said from behind him.

When he started to withdraw his fingers, Cyrus lied, "Wait, that kind of hurt."

Greyson continued to explore his head, carefully examining him before the purposeful movements transformed into a general massage. Greyson's fingers worked gentle circles over his scalp, and Cyrus couldn't help the appreciative moan that slipped from his lips as he pressed into Greyson. Well, he tried to. The back of the chair blocked him from Greyson's warm chest. Greyson chuckled as his fingers slid away.

Cyrus moaned in protest, but Greyson did not go far, his fingers sliding down and began rubbing his neck, then his uninjured shoulder. Cyrus groaned again. He liked this. The frequent touching and conversations they'd been having. More discussions were needed to clear the air between the two of them, but he couldn't help but enjoy these simple moments.

Greyson's fingers worked on his uninjured shoulder, then moved down his back, massaging him. Sighing in contentment, Cyrus leaned forward to give him more access.

"You're like a cat," Greyson commented, and Cyrus didn't bother to deny it.

Only a few days had passed, and already, Cyrus' head felt so much better. The pain had completely disappeared. The cuts on his side and thigh had scabbed nicely and healed to the point Greyson no longer worried about them. He continued to fuss over the stab wound in his shoulder. Greyson nagged Cyrus, almost incessantly, about not straining the muscles and giving them adequate time to heal.

After a few minutes, Greyson pulled away.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Greyson didn't answer and asked instead, "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes."

Smiling, Greyson pulled a chair across from Cyrus and sat down, rather stiffly. Days had passed, but Greyson continued to limp and clutch his side. The swelling around his left eye had almost completely disappeared, and his split lip had healed well. Whatever damage the soldiers had done to his side and knee had been significant, though Greyson rarely complained.

As Cyrus stared at him, anger welled in his chest. Lord Darius was at fault. He hadn't done anything since he'd been confined to his home, but Cyrus doubted they'd heard the last from Darius. The captain of the guard bore no love for the lord and seemed content to take Cyrus' orders, though he watched the soldiers closely.

In the interim, until his uncle named him or another as a representative, he'd taken over the duties. In some ways, it made his life easier. Like this home he and Greyson had been staying in, he simply had Widow Jones bill the estate for rent, and he paid her. The same for any food they needed. But he'd been busier than he liked the last couple of days and hadn't got to see Greyson as much as he wanted. On the other hand, Greyson remained practical and shrugged it off.

Cyrus looked at Greyson who sat across from him. He simply watched Cyrus with a slight smile, sipping some tea. Greyson did love his tea.

"You're limping pretty badly," Cyrus said.

"My leg, mainly my knee, is not happy. I think one of the soldiers dislocated it, so the tendons are stretched. I'm hopeful it will heal."

With a frown, he crossed his arms and leaned back in the wooden chair, making it creak. "I can't believe you won't tell me which soldiers hurt you."

"They were following orders, and I will be fine."

Cyrus glared at him.

"I know you would punish them unduly. I promise I will be alright, Cyrus."

He wanted to argue with Greyson, yet at the same time, he didn't. Their relationship rested on the edge of a knife. It was precarious at best. Cyrus and Greyson hadn't discussed anything of the past, but it hung between them like a tangible wall. Yet neither of them seemed able or wanted to cross it.

Cyrus feared the instant one of them did, their fragile relationship would fall to pieces. Because what did they have to bind them together? Nothing tangible. Cyrus had years of one-sided love, and Greyson had a new-found love with a Cyrus who didn't remember the past. It was like they both just waited for a breeze to blow their relationship apart. To salvage it, they both tiptoed around everything that would divide them.

"I better go. I promised some of the kids I would teach them a couple of spells while I'm here," Greyson remarked as he rose with a slight moan.

"I wish you'd relax."

"I'm fine," Greyson said in a clipped tone.

Greyson fussed over him non-stop, but when Cyrus tried to do the same, Greyson would push him away. "I'm allowed to be worried about you."

"I didn't say you couldn't worry. I merely said ‘I'm fine' because I am." Greyson did not even glance at him as he limped to his staff that leaned in the far corner.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Cyrus asked, "Would you stop?"

"For what?" Greyson growled.

Cyrus jerked back. Blinking, he swallowed the sudden emotion that clawed at his throat. Greyson had barked at him before, and Cyrus had shrugged it off, but this time, it felt like he was rejecting him.

"No—ugh," Greyson said, placing the staff in the corner again before he limped to Cyrus. Greyson bumped Cyrus' chin up. Greyson's brows had formed a slash across his forehead. "I'm sorry," he whispered before gently kissing him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be as harsh as I sound. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Why won't you let me take care of you?"

Greyson closed his eyes as his face scrunched, hand falling to his side.

Cyrus took Greyson's hands. "As much as you fuss over me, I want to do the same thing to you."

"I know."

"So why?"

Greyson stared at him for several moments, swallowing. "I'm not used to it. My family died when I was fourteen. I took care of others, taught them, healed them, and later fought for them. I take care of other people; they don't take care of me."

He grasped Greyson's cheeks as he stood. "I can understand that, but I need to be able to take care of you when you're hurt."

Greyson's jaw clenched, then worked side to side as he blinked several times.

"I love you," he said. "You're going to have to get used to me fussing over you because I'm not going to stop taking care of you, Greyson. For the rest of our lives, I'm going to take care of you while you take care of me."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes," Cyrus answered, wholeheartedly.

Greyson kissed him firmly. Cyrus kept hold of Greyson's cheeks as he returned the kiss, slowly. With steady movements, he tried to ease whatever anxieties Greyson possessed about the future or their relationship. Cyrus would be here. Nothing could tear him from Greyson's side.

He put a hand on Greyson's hip and carefully pulled him until they were flush against each other. Greyson groaned, tongue pushing into his mouth. Cyrus opened his mouth wider. Greyson grasped the edge of Cyrus' shirt. Cyrus lifted his arms so he could remove it with no resistance. Greyson's fingers slid down his back, skimming over his muscles. He moaned, leaning closer. Gently, Cyrus directed him toward the bed.

When the backs of Greyson's knees hit the bed frame, Cyrus helped him lay down, then crawled on, hovering over him on all fours. He was careful not to place any weight on Greyson, as he was recovering from broken ribs. Putting most of his weight on his elbows, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, Cyrus kissed Greyson again. Greyson explored his chest, his fingers tracing the lines of Cyrus' muscles.

Sweat gathered on his forehead as Cyrus began to tug off Greyson's shirt. Hands stopped the movement.

"No," Greyson said calmly.

"What?"

"We're not having sex."

Cyrus' breath came out in uneven bursts. "I didn't think we were. I just wanted to kiss your chest."

"Oh." His pale cheeks pinked delightfully.

"For curiosity's sake, why not?"

"First," Greyson started, which made Cyrus smile. He had always liked to list things off, even when they were teenagers. "I'm in too much pain."

That made sense.

"Second, I've never done this with another man, and I need time."

Nodding again, Cyrus said, "You can have as much time as you need. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thank you," Greyson said, smiling softly at him before continuing, "Third, I need to get to know you better. I love you, Cyrus. But we don"t know each other very well yet."

"I agree," Cyrus said. "I want to know everything about you."

"As do I."

Cyrus rested on one elbow as he touched Greyson's cheek. Cyrus' fingers wandered over his face, coming close to his scar before skittering away. He never looked at it or touched it, which Greyson found almost amusing because when Cyrus had no memories, he often kissed or touched it.

Maybe it had been familiar? Greyson didn't know.

When Cyrus' fingers traced his face again, avoiding the right side, Greyson caught his hand and placed it directly over the scar. "You can touch it."

Cyrus swallowed as his eyes darted to the side. Greyson could easily interpret the expression as disgust, but he knew it wasn't that. It was shame.

"I'm not mad at you, and I don't blame you anymore."

"How could you not?"

"Because we were in the middle of a battle, trying to kill each other, and you spared my life," Greyson replied. Cyrus still wouldn't look at him. "I remember your face, and the horror I saw there. Even when I hated you, I knew you hadn't wanted to kill me. Oddly enough, I dreaded meeting you."

He shook his head, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. "I should've stopped it."

"What? The rebellion?"

Cyrus nodded.

"While I can't condone what your uncle did, there are things I'm ashamed about. Actions I wish I could take back. But we can't. You and I alone are not plagued by nightmares, Cyrus. The war wasn't won or lost on our backs, even when it feels like that. You have to let it go."

"How?"

"One step at a time," Greyson said. "I think you and I will be hashing things out to our graves, but try to let things go. Right now, you can forgive yourself for my eye. I don't blame you. I'm not mad at you. And you can touch it."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Cyrus' fingers moved along the scar, tracing it from tip to end. A contented sigh escaped Greyson's lips as his other eye fluttered closed. He felt a gentle pressure on his cheek as Cyrus kissed the scar, moving up the length of it. When he reached the tip, a breathy laugh rushed over Greyson's forehead.

"I love you," Cyrus said.

"I love you too."

Gently, Cyrus kissed his forehead until reaching the spot between Greyson's eyebrows. "I love the wrinkle you have here."

"I imagine when I'm old it will turn deep with all the scowling I do."

"True."

Cyrus kissed the bridge of his nose. "You always pinch your nose here when I've said something stupid or you're thinking."

"Yes."

He continued exploring, kissing Greyson and remarking on the different things he loved until Cyrus reached his mouth once again. Firmly, Cyrus kissed him before saying, "One step at a time."

Greyson nodded. "One step at a time."

Lips on his, Cyrus claimed him with firm movements and quick thrusts of his tongue, and Greyson ran his fingers over his back, enjoying the feel of his skin. He was perfect. Ignoring the persistent ache between his legs, Greyson traced every inch of Cyrus' exposed skin. Cyrus groaned in response, growling through clenched teeth, "Greyson."

With a smile, Greyson brushed light kisses along his strong jaw. He never wanted this moment to end.

Someone pounded on the door, and Cyrus leaped off, swearing as his chest heaved. "What the hell?"

"Greyson," Jessica called from the other side of the door. "What's taking so long?"

He'd completely forgotten about his promise. "The kids," he said, trying to calm his racing heart. "I promised to teach them."

"That's right." Cyrus glanced at him, then blushed profusely as his eyes landed on Greyson's lap.

Greyson frowned. He was going to need a minute. "Jessica," he yelled. "I'll be right there."

Even through the door, he heard the teenager huff. "Fine." She tramped down the stairs, stomping.

Cyrus peeked at him, and Greyson could stop the chuckle that built in his chest. It took no time at all for Cyrus to join in. He rose and wrapped his arms around Cyrus. "I'll be back later."

Hugging him carefully, he said, "Alright."